Harry Potter and the Parallel Universe
by GreySofia
Summary: Harry Potter makes the mistake of being too curious one too many times, but unlike before where he had his friends and Professors there to guide him, he is totally alone in a Parallel Universe. Where up is down and bad is good. Danger lurks and whilst one must let sleeping dogs lie, they won't stay asleep forever. AU.
1. The Mirror

**Disclaimer: **J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter.

**Warnings: **Nonexistent as of yet. Beware though.

Reviews would really be much appreciated; they'd make me really happy. I don't mind if they're anonymous too but please do leave at least one review for this story.

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Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven  
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,  
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven  
So wild that every casual thought of that and this

_- William Butler Yeats -_

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Two years can change a lot.

In a single moment, a butterfly can decide to fly a little harder and higher up in the sky and as a result, a hurricane tears apart a city up North of America a few weeks after. One small thing can create _a world of chaos._

Harry Potter's butterfly is of course … the fact that he is bored. Bored as hell. And the thing about Harry Potter is that when he is bored, danger always follows. Perhaps he inherited it from his late Quidditch-star father, Mr James Potter. Or perhaps from his cheeky, book-smart mother Mrs Lily Potter, nee Evans. But the most important fact is he is bored and he does not do well when bored. He does stupid, reckless, dangerous things.

Though he really, truly shouldn't. Harry should learn to stop meddling with what ought not to be meddled with. Things have been good for him these past two years. He has appeared all over the world in important meetings and dinners; just last week he was at the birthday party of the American Minister for Magic. Life has never been so calm. Of course, for an adrenaline junkie like Harry, calm isn't good. Calm is bad because it means he does not have meaning in his life anymore, excuse his ridiculous rationale.

Maybe life has been good _to_ him, he's alive and healthy, isn't he(?) but that does not necessarily mean that life has been good for him. He isn't enjoying anything anymore. Everyone seems to be moving on; everyone but him. Hermione is engaged to Ron, Luna and Neville have hooked up and are moving in together, and Ginny … his beautiful girlfriend Ginny has been gone for two months on some stupid scholarship to play as a sub for the Holyhead Harpies.

They Apparate to see each other whenever they can which is nice because he loves her and he misses her when she's not nearby. But that does not necessarily mean he is happy in their relationship - it's reached a sort of standstill; they haven't made a huge step since she first let him sleep with her over a year and a half ago.

Harry Potter, it seems God likes him and wants to repay him for all he has done, has grown even more handsome. Handsome in the more conventional sense; he's taller, his voice is even a little deeper, his skin is smoother and his eyes are a brighter emerald than ever before. At first, he did not think much of it. But now he blesses his good genes and the sexual and physical objectification he faces. Due to the way he looks, he has more influence in the Ministry, not that he bothers with that codswallop of a government.

His thoughts are interrupted when his chunky phone rings. He picks it up and though he already knows it is Hermione calling him because she is the only other one with a phone, he still checks. 'Hermione?' he says in a low voice.

'Harry,' she pants. Why is she panting? Better yet, why does she almost always sound like she has just spent the past half an hour strenuously working out? 'Where are you?'

He looks around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and then down at the cold cup of tea he's had in one hand for the last twenty minutes. 'I'm at home. Why?'

'Could you come to Hogwarts please. Something came into the possession of Professor McGonagall …' she pauses and then laughs nervously, 'alright, Minerva … but anyway, we're not completely sure what it is. We could do with a little help, so could you please-'

'I'm on my way.'

In the blink of an eye, Harry appears just outside the Great Hall of Hogwarts. He hears, upon his entrance, an uproar of screaming and cheering.

Imagine a fireworks display and standing in the midst of it all with hundreds of fireworks going off around you. You might be disorientated, confused, even a little scared. But for Harry, he's lived amongst fireworks his whole wizarding life, conscious wizarding life that is.

Gracious is his middle name, well, maybe if 'gracious' began with a 'J' and ended in '-ames'… But regardless, Harry has spent the last two years in particular in the spotlight; thrust into the open arms of the public, with people screaming at him and begging for his autograph. In addition to this, it has become a custom in the last two years for Harry to now rub a fan's forehead, almost exactly where his scar is.

As if that's a token of _good luck_.

He tries to avoid thinking of Lord Voldemort because to him, it is as though all the sadness will _leave_ his life if the reason for the sadness in his life is_ ignored_. But Voldemort didn't create sadness in his life. He created chaos and weirdly enough, a reason for resistance and living. Now that _that reason in particular _for resisting and living is gone, Harry isn't sure what to spend his life doing anymore.

He's not even sure where to begin.

'Hello,' Harry stutters, waving awkwardly at the audience of children when they clap and scream his name.

'Harry!'

'HARRY-!'

'It's The Chosen One!'

He feels his face redden. Remember how it's previously mentioned that Harry is 'gracious' and used to all this crap? Yeah, that's not entirely true. He likes to pretend it is but honestly, it really-really-really isn't. Brighter than a plum, he looks up from the ground (pretending to himself that there's something interesting on his shoe when there isn't) when finally, Hagrid comes to the rescue.

Amazing, brilliant, friendly Hagrid.

'Harry!' he shouts, moving through the crowd with a kind of power akin to that of a king or a fierce warrior. When the gigantic man approaches Harry, they shake hands firmly. ''Ow are yeh?' he asks in that loud, booming voice of his.

'I'm very good Hagrid. Let's get out of here, I have an appointment with McGonagall.'

'I'll take yeh there,' the large man says. He's wearing a bright purple suit and his hair is separated into two pigtails. ''Scuse meh, move outta the way,' he barks when they don't listen to his first request. They, the audience that is because when they're all mobbed together, Harry refuses to give them an identity and instead thinks of them as a collective, simultaneous entity when they act this way … but anyway, they part quickly and shuffle over so that Harry and the half-giant can pass.

'How're you Hagrid?' Harry asks, turning to look at the man and struggling all the same to keep up with the enormous man.

'I'm very good meself, Harry. Jus' bin busy teachin' and workin' I guess. The Mrs also ain't speaking to meh righ' now, so I'm in a little bit o' trouble.' He chortles and Harry laughs with him. Yes, last year Hagrid and Madame Maxime married.

More often than not, they are a match made in Giant Heaven, but they fight often and if Harry is honest, their confrontations make Harry, Hermione and Ron's days. They're very funny when they argue in Order meetings or when Hagrid is taken to Harry after he's kicked out of a bar for fighting with a man who had looked at Maxime the wrong way. But all in all, things have gone well for the couple. Maxime is no longer the Headmistress of Beauxbatons and instead lives in Scotland with Hagrid, starting her own fashion business for larger women.

The old pair of friends exchange more pleasantries in which Hagrid shares why exactly Maxime isn't talking to him and Harry encloses a little more information about why he's here at Hogwarts. When they finally arrive at the gargoyle, and Harry says the password - _Albus Dumbledore._

'Thank you Hagrid,' he says when the stairs appear. 'I'll see you later, maybe I'll come down to your office for a cup of tea and some rock cakes.'

'Alrigh' Harry,' the bushy-haired man says. He nods at Harry, claps him a little too hard on the shoulder and then turns away to walk. The young wizard has always wondered what type of magic makes the stairs go 'round and 'round. Did the late Dumbledore create it? Or is it perhaps a feature that has been present and constant in Hogwarts since the times of the Great Founding Four?

Or maybe it's a simple Levitation Charm and there really is no more to it. Maybe it ends there. But in Harry's experience, things never just _end _there.

Shaking his head, Harry steps onto the stairs and lets the gargoyle raise him higher and higher until he's standing before the thick, dark brown oak door. He knocks.

There's no answer.

Harry knocks again and after another thirty seconds of waiting, is rewarded with silence. 'Hello? Hermione? Professor McGonagall?' he calls. There's no response.

The advantage of being the bane of Lord Voldemort's existence, at several moments in time being one of the most hated people in Britain, and also the most wanted is that Harry has learnt how important caution and thought are to survival. The most dangerous experiences he's had have been when he didn't think enough or wasn't cautious enough.

He opens the door without waiting and steps into the large, circular office. Not one portrait is hung up with a face, because all of its inhabitants, even Dumbledore in his portrait, have gone. Perhaps to find out some information for McGonagall and Hermione, Harry's not sure.

He also notices that even though it is cold outside (November does tend to be cold in England you see) the fireplace is bare of golden dancing flames and delightful warmth. Moreover, in the dim office all of the candles (aside from one) are not lit.

Harry however, instead of doing the logical thing because he really is just an idiot sometimes, does not leave the room and instead stares at the large, veiled object hidden behind a thick cloak.

'What...?' he murmurs.

He takes a step forward and despite the voice in his head shouting STOP, STOP RIGHT NOW, Harry carries on forward until he's so close to the object he can almost smell it. A shaky hand comes out and he pulls off the cloak thrown over the object. He doesn't expect to see what he sees.

His face.

Reflected back at him.

A mirror. Just a mirror.

A gorgeous mirror now he thinks about it. The frame is so obviously hand-crafted, with intricate patterns and beautiful designs weaving across … is it … wood? Or maybe marble? Harry bites his lip, spares one more glance at the blank portrait of Dumbledore and then shrugs and touches the frame.

When he looks back up, his eyes meet the painted piercing blue irises of the man he owes everything to ... but it's too late. Harry is sucked into the mirror and tossed to the furthest ends of the universe. He lands on his arse and grunts when he backside connects with the hard ground.

He hears a loud crack and the answering scream that exits his open, hollering mouth, sends chills down the spines of everyone listening. Because everyone is listening.

The air is white with cold and all you can hear is screaming.


	2. Familiar Faces?

**Disclaimer; **I do not own Harry Potter. J.K Rowling does.

Please review, they make me happy and I want to know what you think of this chapter. I hope you like the addition of familiar characters. Please enjoy and remember that the next chapter will be much longer, I promise.

Enjoy the rest of your day! :)

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When pain is blinding, all rational though leaves you. All you desire at that moment in time is to find a way to somehow dull the pain; screaming does nothing like this of course, but as previously mentioned - you are _not_ rational. Screaming in pain is a natural response; whether to distract oneself of the pain perhaps or maybe even just to alert others of the extreme pain one's in.

But everyone is listening to Harry. _Everyone can hear him screaming._

Harry Potter doesn't care though. All he knows is that he can't move and that he is, much to the displeasure of him, paralysed with all-consuming agony. The only thing that he knows to do is holler like a baby separated from its mother. He hardly notices when he's suddenly being levitated into the air and is fastly following an object. Something. But what?

What is he following?

Who is he following would probably be a much more accurate question.

The indescribable pain he is experiencing is previously overtaken for a second by his common sense and he wonders who in this strange place could be moving him to what, danger or maybe help even. If it is the latterly then, he thinks, why is it taking so long for the pain to go.

'-broke his coccyx, in several places I think-' voices are muttering over a carnival of noise.

_White noises. _Not complementary of one another and definitely not at all lyrical or melodic. There's shouting, screaming, shrill sirens ripping open his ears.

'-what on earth a coccyx is, sounds like an alien-'

'-referred to … tailbone … shut him up please-'

Harry, in the groggy haze he is in, slurs in a delirious voice, 'Wha- _don't_ … please...'

Darkness takes over. He closes his eyes because it's the easiest thing to do and sometimes it's easier to succumb than to fight. But when his gut tells him that this isn't a battle worth fighting for, succumb he does.

_xo_

Upon waking in the dark room that he's found himself in, and with the pleasant feeling of floating and not feeling any pain, Harry keeps his eyes closed. He's scared to open it. _Better the devil you know,_ he thinks.

'It can't be him.' A scathing voice says, this time clearer in Harry's head. 'The prophecy said-'

'The prophecy was incomplete. Still is. And besides, this is the man that was promised upon us by Great Merlin. We should just...'

'Just what Hermione?'

_Hermione?_

_HERMIONE!_

Harry jolts in the bed he's cuddled up in and then whines low in his voice.

'Hey there...' a girl says, and she comes around so she's closer. He can make the faint outline of bushy but very soft hair. It's like a halo and he murmurs under his breath, 'Are you my friend?'

She laughs softly in her throat and touches his hair. 'Hello Mr Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

He cranes his head and looks around. He's in the hospital wing, maybe it's nighttime and maybe he's just been so tired and sick that … that...

'Do you remember what happened, eh?' a new, masculine voice asks. It's gruff and brusque and yet strangely familiar.

'Where am I?' his voice is shaky and very scared all of a sudden. This can't be real. He was just in McGonagall's office, staring into a mirror-

'You're in the Wands of Legend, my supposed bar,' the gruff voice replies. 'Now, do you remember what happened?'

Harry shakes his head and then remembers that it's very dim they can't see him. 'No … w-what happened Hermione?'

There's a pause and then-

'How do you know my name?'

'What are you doing Hermione? The joke's over. Now let's go back to McGonagall-'

Hermione laughs bitterly. 'What joke?' she asks. 'There's no joke sir.' She doesn't notice his face contorting into one of extreme annoyance and dare she say it, _anger._

'That's it! That's enough! Stop it ... very funny, I get it! You're trying to scare me. You've tricked me into thinking I've broken my tailbone and I've appeared in a dream land or whatever. But I'm tired and cold and hungry. I'm not in the mood!'

The lights flicker on and momentarily blind him just so that his attention averts to his thirsty eyes and their befuddled search for some relief. He realises quickly that closing them and opening them bit by bit is a lot let agonising. When his eyes adjust to the brilliant bright lights he stares at the two people in front of him, sitting around the dirty bed he lies on.

The girl, one of his eldest and most precious friends Hermione, looks very different. Her hair is dyed almost black and much shorter than it's supposed to be. Her skin in paler and she has piercings all over her face; her nose, eyebrows, lip and every available spot on her ear. But what he notices first is the scar running across her face; from her left eye and down to jaw. It's faded and looks old but it startles him.

_What happened?_

'Hermione,' he breathes tentatively and reaches out to touch her. She flinches a little and then turns red.

'Sorry sir,' she murmurs and her eyes water. 'Oh, I'm so sorry!' she says. Then she breaks into a beautiful smile that breaks his heart. 'I'm just so happy to see you! You'll save us! You'll save this whole world!'

Harry is thrown off-course again. 'What?'

'I'm not gonna ask you for a third time,' the old man says. His eyes go to him and he recognises him after a few seconds of hard staring. He's a lot skinner and also looks considerably elder. With white hair, long fingers and an even longer nose, Harry realises that it's Ollivander.

'I d-don't know what I remember. It's all a blur...' Harry breaks off and then interjects with, 'I remember seeing a mirror and falling through it. I landed on my arse and then I woke up and I'm here.'

'You don't remember setting off the alarms with your raving screams? You woke up half the street. The Life Eaters have probably heard you, through no fault of your own of course. You took a nasty fall, broke your coccyx in several places. We had to get you out of there with illegal Apparation so there are probably patrols being conducted as we speak.' Hermione says calmly. 'But don't worry, it was worth it.'

'Life Eaters? Patrols? I-I … I don't understand.'

Hermione reaches over and touches his hand gently before releasing him. 'Don't worry,' she tells him.

He stops talking and takes a moment to appraise the room he is in. It's small but has a sink nearby and a fridge. The sink is dripping and there are syringes and empty vial bottles and a dirty cauldron protruding from the sink. He then pays attention to the rest of the room. There are a few chairs scattered around, on the wall are pictures and notes pinned everywhere with instructions, maps, plans and character profiles. His eyes hurt too much to make out the words. He's just so tired. Harry next looks at himself; he is in a bed with dirty sheets and a few droplets of blood staining it. He can't find enough energy to do anything other than cry a little.

Because he does cry. First, his eyes water and then they sting like someone has sprayed the hottest water into them, scalding them and burning his eyes. He doesn't know what to think and Harry hates not knowing what to do or think. Ignorance is his greatest enemy.

'Oh,' Hermione cries and she throws her arms around him. Even this unrecognisable girl scares him - who is she? Who is she with the same coloured eyes, voice and name as his dearest friend? And where is Ron? You never see one without the other.

'Where am I?' Harry asks.

Hermione and Ollivander exchange glances and a million thoughts seem to travel between them when finally, Ollivander says in a soft aged voice, 'You're in the British Wizarding Province of Riddlesville. The first Provincial country in the world to have mass Muggle Slavery.'

Hermione's eyes water and she looks down. 'In this country, we currently have almost fifteen million slaves. Welcome to Britain.'

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**A/N: **Thank you for the followers and favourites once again. I hope you've enjoyed this vague chapter, please review!


	3. Riddlesville

**Disclaimer; **I do not own Harry Potter. This all belongs to J.K.

Thank you all so much! The response for this story is heart-warming and so lovely. I'd like to thank all the reviews, anonymous and logged-in alike. Your words are uplifting and as promised, I've produced a longer chapter. If this story does seem ambivalent at times, remember that loose ends will be tied up and everything will make sense sooner or later.

Enjoy the rest of your day. I sure will.

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Perhaps the hardest time in Harry's life ever to have occurred in the large, infinite scale of time was of course: facing Voldemort and not knowing whether he was going to ever come back out of it with his dear friends and his life - the two most important things to him during his struggle for survival. So he did lose beloved friends and family like Fred Weasley and Remus Lupin because of this never ending struggle over power but he came out of it in largely one piece.

Maybe with life-changing, forever-altering memories that would always torment him and haunt him to some degree but Harry was so still grateful that he hadn't gone the same way as his parents, so grateful...

He just wondered why God wasn't very grateful too.

_Why did this have to happen to him?_ After all he has and had done; defeating the Dark Lord, restoring harmony and peace in the British Wizarding World and emphasising how little it mattered to be Muggleborn or Pureblood. But the most important factor is that after everything he has been through and all he's done, he did not deserve this.

In his hand, clenched between his pale, tense fingers whilst a matching gesture is mirrored on his face, Harry holds the only thing he remotely recognises: the Daily Prophet. Well, it's called the Daily Follower but he fails to notice or care.

It has the date on it; _20th February 2000_. The date from his time written in the same language with the same main characters in the stories; you know, people like Malfoy, Bellatrix and the likes. What Harry does however stare at (his jaw dropping open in wonder) is when he learns of the country's Prime Minister.

_Severus Snape._

Harry bites his lip. He's not completely sure what to think and looks up at Hermione and Ollivander. 'Excuse me,' he says to them in a voice sparse of confidence and hope. 'Do you know who Severus Snape is?' asks Harry.

'Of course,' Hermione says. 'He's the first half-blood that has ever been Prime Minister, despite him denouncing his half-Mudblood status and claiming that at heart he will always been a Pureblood.'

The green-eyed man of nineteen years old sighs and bites his lip. He's so shocked at how quickly things have flipped around - from a day where things were verging on the edge of being bitterly bored to now being sucked into a world where right is wrong and bad is really just good. He turns to look back at Hermione and shivers from detached affection and pure confusion.

A girl he has known for his whole wizarding life has suddenly transformed and she's no longer his Hermione. Does he even have any claim to calling her that? Then a redhead flashes through his mind and he barks before he can restrain himself, 'Ron! Where's Ron? Is he here-… do you know where he is... can you tell me?'

'Shh, please, don't raise your voice. I don't want any Life Eaters patrolling outside to hear up.' Hermione hisses, eyes dancing fleetingly around the room as though she can see past the walls and into the background. Her eyes settle, clearly a little alarmed on Harry.

He lowers his voice and says softly, 'What d'you mean by Life Eaters. Is that code for a group of people? Is it actually a type of Magical Creature-'

'Don't be stupid.' The aged and calm voice of Ollivander's wafts around Harry and he closes his eyes for a very brief second. Harry turns to watch the old man with transfixed interest. He tries not to be too conspicuous or obtrusive but fails when he catches sight of Ollivander's frustrated face and can't look away for the life of himself. Ollivander's eyes are closed with a type of tiredness that doesn't come with age but comes with the sort of abuse that tears down a person. Harry watches with wanton, deliberate enrapture and doesn't turn away even when the old man turns to face him. 'The description for Life Eaters lies amongst the two words.' He murmurs. 'They eat life. They are the inhumanity and cruelty of this world. They are the scum and the evil and the destroyer of lives.'

Ollivander's grey eyes flicker with an emotion Harry can't recognise. But he understands what Ollivander is telling him; they are Voldemort and everything he is about.

'And Lord Vold-'

'Silencio,' hisses Hermione. Harry opens and closes his mouth but no noise comes out. When his eyes meet the hazel of the pierced, bushy-haired "friend" of his, he shivers. 'Never,' she whispers, 'say that word aloud.' With a flick of her hair she turns away from Harry and clenches her eyes in anger. It takes her a whole minute of silence to calm down enough. When Harry turns to face Ollivander, he regrets it.

'This is our prophecy. This confused child besides us. I don't trust the word of anyone if this is what I am expected to put my trust into.' His voice is bitter and cold now, like he feels let down.

Hermione's eyes flicker to Harry's worryingly before she looks away and cocks her head at a door to Ollivander. The old man seems to read her mind; he stands and without another look spared at Harry, leaves the room through the door.

'Wait here,' Hermione says to him. Her voice and expression are both a little colder; not at all directed towards Harry, he soon realises, but more like she's remembering something that chills her to the bones. Albeit the smile she gives him, he can tell that the impression of himself that he has given her is not all that great.

'Hermione,' he calls and she turns around, expectant and a little impatient. His eyes go to the scar running across her face and he shivers. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's … it's okay Mr Potter. There's a cup of coffee over there and half a sandwich, tuck in.' Then she leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Harry's eyes the plate with half a sandwich edgily before hunger wins and he devours it; a groan ripples low in his throat and suddenly the sandwich is gone. Shortly followed by a cold cup of coffee; delicious, black coffee. He looks down at his stomach upon hearing a low, ominous grumble.

Five minutes pass in silence, laying on the dirty old bed and waiting patiently for Hermione and Ollivander to come back in - maybe he can ask them for a burger or something. Any source of food, really. Even a glass of water would suffice.

Ten more minutes fly by and with the ten minutes comes a chance for Harry to reflect. Is danger as eminent as they make it seem? Who is he in this world? Does he even exist? Or is he merely a figment of destiny and imagination?

The orchestral piece ringing through the room, his stomach that is, increases in pitch - each note is followed by a bass note in response. Harry throws his head back in frustration and calls out for the first time, 'Mr Ollivander?' There's no answer.

'Hermione?' No one replies. 'Hello?' Despite his comfortable position, Harry forgoes it to see if anything is the matter. He hopes nothing bad has happened - Ollivander and Hermione are the only people he can rely on right now; this world is nothing like his own and yet strangely similar in the sense that danger lurks at every street corner and he is just as important back home than he supposedly is here. Harry opens the door, or rather, attempts to. But it's no use. It's locked.

His voice takes on a hysterical note now: 'Hello? Hermione? Why am I locked in here-?'

There's a piercing shriek and without a second thought, Harry Disapparates. The blinding sort of pain, you know, all-consuming pain that does not leave a single part of your body untouched, rips through Harry. Apparating and having a broken tailbone do not go hand in hand.

He muffles a shout with his hand as he slams down onto the ground. It doesn't hurt as much; he's healed after all, but it's like touching an old bruise. The pain is still lingers in the background. Harry doesn't recognise where he is. But sirens are wailing around him.

So, you must be wondering, what his answering action is...

Harry does what he does best. He gets up, thinks for a brief moment and without another thought, sprints. He runs as fast as he can which is pretty damn fast. His feet beat against the ground whilst the clouds about him grumble and groan. They soon start crying and he's soaked to the bone with rain.

But Harry doesn't stop running. If it's the last thing he does, he won't ever stop running. He wonders for a second before, for a second time on this planet his consciousness is stolen, where the sirens are coming from. His body makes a soft, wet thud as he collapses on the soft grass of the field he has run in to.

Arms wrap around the limp body of the young man and haul him over a shoulder. 'Where the hell did you think you were going to, eh?' the gentle voice of one Mr Remus Lupin asks. The werewolf shrugs and Apparates to the one place he knows he can trust; Grimmauld Place.

_xo_

'This is starting to happen a little too often,' a melodic voice says softly from beside Harry.

Groggily, he opens his eyes and trembles. ''Mione...'

'Mr Potter?' she replies in that same, level-headed, familiar voice of hers.

'What happened?'

When his eyes open, he looks around the brilliantly bright room. Her pale face is thrown into the light of the room. Her scar, like a frozen river running over her face, is deep and pink - like it's fresh. 'It's not fresh,' she murmurs, like she can read his mind.

_Can she?_

'It's a wound from a werewolf. They always look like this-'

'Lupin-'

She nods. 'I was keeping him company when I learned of his feelings for me. I told him that us being together wasn't a good idea and he ... or rather, his wolfy-self scratched me. Don't worry though, I'm fine. And I got a hot boyfriend out of it.'

'What?' Harry breathes. Then he shakes his head. 'Please! Don't surprise me. I'm too tired and in too much pain right now to laugh-'

Her hazel eyes flash. 'Laugh at what? How absurd our relationship is? I've heard that enough times!' she sighs tiredly and then says, 'Why did you run off? I hope we haven't upset you.'

'No, it's not that. I was …' his face turns red and he laughs at the ridiculousness of this situation. 'I was a little hungry. I just wanted to get a burger.'

'You fucking had me chase after you across three blocks with Life Eater patrols screaming at us and Dementors right on our tail because you were hungry?' a new voice interjects. It's a rich and melodic voice. The sort that you can fall asleep listening to because it's so soothing and calming. With the voice of course, comes a body. He's a tall man with a frame that is deceivingly thin; Remus Lupin is a lot more muscular than an impartial observer would first perceive. His large blue/green eyes are piercing and hold more knowledge than a library of books. He has a few scars on his timidly handsome face and lips that are contorted into a wide grin when his eyes meet his girlfriend's.

Hermione's.

They're actually together, Harry concludes, when Hermione jumps up and falls into her boyfriend's arms. They kiss briefly and then Remus turns to face Harry. He watches the boy for a second and stares at him with a calculated coolness, his face impartial now. But then he breaks into a laugh and smiles radiantly. He pulls Harry up into a standing position and hugs him.

'Harry,' he says, 'it's an honour to meet you.'

The messy-haired young man closes his eyes and enjoys the embrace. It's almost like Remus is his father and he is the sad child; in need of affection and nothing else. Familiarity is something Harry is coming to love and crave in the one day he has spent on this world. Didn't he hate it before? Didn't he condemn his relationship with Ginny for being too familiar, a little _too boring._

The embrace ends and Harry steps back to admire his father's best friend. 'It's very nice to meet you too.' He turns to face the bushy-haired woman and almost laughs at the lovestruck expression on her face. 'Hermione, why were you screaming back at the place?'

'I wasn't screaming. Well I was, but from happiness. I hadn't seen Remus for two weeks before today. I was happy. I'm sorry that I led you to believe otherwise.'

Suddenly, they're all laughing at how stupid the situation is. 'This is absurd,' the chuckling voice of Hermione interrupts. When they calm down, she asks her boyfriend a question. 'So, what are the damages?'

'None as of yet. Apart from the fact that our base in Diagon Alley is no longer usable now.'

'Who cares? I never liked it anyway. It was too dangerous. Grimmauld Place however-'

'HELLO RIDDLESVILLE,' a booming voice from seemingly nowhere aside from thin air fills Harry's ears and he cries out, covering his ears and turning to look at the couple beside him who are the same as they were before, like this is a regular occurrence. Despite this however, they still do pay the utmost attention to the voice with no origin; the sound with no home.

'HOW ARE YOU TODAY, MEMBERS OF RIDDLESVILLE? I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT FROM TODAY, IT WILL BE ILLEGAL TO TALK TO MUGGLES UNLESS THEY ARE YOUR PROPERTY. ANYONE CAUGHT TALKING TO A MUGGLE WHO FAILS TO SHOW IDENTIFICATION OR OWNERSHIP OF SAID MUGGLE WILL BE SUBJECTED TO TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN THE PRESENCE OF A DEMENTOR. IF IT HAPPENS THREE TIMES, AN AZKABAN SENTENCE WILL BE ENFORCED.'

The voice pauses for a second and there is almost complete silence across the nation. In regards to Harry's current state, he's stuck in a whirlpool of bitter memories that sting him and make his eyes burn. _That chilling voice..._

The voice that haunted his dreams for years. The voice that is the definition of death and cruelty to him. It freezes his bones and tears apart his mind's shield in less than a second.

He's no longer Harry Potter, but instead that helpless little half-blood orphan.

'THANK YOU.' The voice says before the energy rippling through the room fades and no one speaks another word for a few minutes. It seems the werewolf is the one to break the silence.

'So, Mr Potter,' he says. 'You've witnessed the first National Message, projected by the Department of Mysteries. What do you think?'

Harry wonders how to answer and then says softly, 'I'm not sure. Does that happen often?'

The couple deliberate and then say simultaneously, 'About once a week. Maybe twice if we're lucky.' Strangely enough, Harry knows that they don't really mean lucky. They're mocking the system because sometimes it's the only thing the oppressed can do.

'Are there always laws that are being passed?'

'No,' Hermione replies, 'they range from warnings to laws to sometimes even just messages like "ONE MILLION MUGGLES HAVE DIED, HOORAY".'

Harry nods to himself and mentally stores what he has been told. It may well come in use one day. 'How did this all happen?'

Hermione laughs and shakes her head. 'It's only been around for the last … what, fifty years? Not very long. But the fact is that it all happened very quickly, especially for me. One day parents, granted … they were slaves but they were together, when my mother wasn't off getting raped,' she spits the last sentence. '... But they had me and they loved me. Until I turned seven and my slave masters, the Malfoys, found out that I was magical. My parents were killed for supposedly stealing magic and giving it to me and I …'

Harry's mouth falls open and he feels the urge to hug this strange, unfamiliar girl but he restrains himself even more so because her boyfriend is right beside her. 'You...?'

'I became a slave.' Tears run down her pretty face and she shivers. 'For four years, I was a slave. I was a woman too - if you think that girls become women when they have sex for the first time. But I wouldn't call it sex … it was rape … who cared though? No one cared.'

The next question that comes out of his mouth is a hesitant question. 'H-how did you get out? If you don't mind my asking...'

A smile, true and bright as day, covers her face and she looks at Remus. 'The Malfoy son, he helped me get away. Just far enough so I could ask for help. And then I came across Remus and Kingsley and they took me away.'

Harry shivers and looks at Remus when he asks his final question. 'Who was it who helped you?'

'The Malfoy son. I don't know why I'm pretending like I've forgotten his name.' She pauses and looks out of the window when she says the last part of her sentence, 'His name is Draco Malfoy.'

His hand goes to his wand at the same time that he replies with, 'Take me to see Draco Malfoy.'

It's even more surprising when Remus answers the statement with, 'Only if I can come with you.'

Harry ponders and uses his brain extensively for the first time since arriving here on this weird planet. It's a lot harder to just sit and think than it seems. He's always liked avoiding things, especially the less pleasant situations. But now he is confronted with an ugly truth and an even uglier possibility. So he closes his eyes and thinks and when he opens them he comes to terms with an answer that he is happy with; not content or satisfied or annoyed but _happy. _When was the last time he was happy with a decision?

'Can we leave tonight then?'

'I shouldn't see why not.'


	4. Borgin & Burkes

**Disclaimer;** I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story.

I'm re-posting this chapter because I only copied & pasted half of it when I posted it in the first place, which means that you have all missed out important events from this chapter. I'm very sorry if it was somewhat confusing to read. I've learnt how important proof-reading is now haha.

Hope you enjoy..

* * *

Draco Malfoy. The epitome of distortion, confusion and anger mixed into one ball. Bless his gorgeous, sacred soul. He's a very confused man who faces a world of expectations. His family expect a lot from him; his allegiances expect much from him and unfortunately, his job trusts him to do things their way too.

By job, Draco Malfoy means following his father around doing whatever he needs. This comes under the request that he well, he fights bad and promotes good.

Bad in this context is of course, the good of Mr. Harry Potter's world; i.e., Hermione, Ollivander and Lupin who are otherwise perceived "criminals" or wrong-doers in the dystopia world they live in now.

But Draco is good because he follows the laws set out by Voldemort; he does what he is told, does not anger his Lord and does not purposely bring harm to humans.

_Humans._

In this world, in Riddlesville, humans are those that _possess_ magic. Muggles are not human: Muggles are the scum beneath his feet. They do not matter nor will they ever matter, definitely not in the Western World at least. In most of Europe, they're not technically "slaves" but rather, are second-class citizens without the privileges bestowed upon those with magic. However, Britain, Germany and Italy have Muggle slaves. In America, Muggles are slaves.

And why is that...?

Because Muggles don't matter.

Draco, with a jerk of his head, looks up when his mother enters the room and clears his throat. Narcissa Black, with her stunning face and volumous head of golden hair, looks at her son and sighs. 'Why are you not with your father?'

'Has he gone already Mother?' asks Draco in a worried voice. He knows not to upset his mother.

'No, but he'll be leaving soon son. Go down and quickly have breakfast with him. You're in for a treat.'

Draco shudders. He knows what a treat is in his mother and father's eyes; some Muggle they give him free reign to rape and beat and murder. He's ashamed to admit it but he has raped and beat and murdered Muggles before. Even a Mudblood or two as well.

But they're _not necessarily _human. They're slaves; his property; his choice to do whatever he will with them. Yet when he's buried inside one of those slaves, with her wet eyes wide open and her bottom lip trembling, he doesn't feel the elation he's sure his father feels when committed a similar act.

No. Draco feels disgust.

When he goes down to the large breakfast hall, he sees that he was wrong to assume his father got him a Muggle slave to sleep with.

His father got him two.

_xo_

'Wait, what?' cries Hermione when she hears her boyfriend.

Remus Lupin, the love of her life, is willing to die just to help someone? Granted, it's not someone. It's the Chosen One, the Prophet that they have all been waiting for but he hasn't even stopped to think about it. He wants to leave tonight? Without reinforcements, without a plan, without an ounce of knowing what to expect.

She grabs his face and presses a quick kiss to his lips. 'Please Remy, think about this for a minute-'

'I have thought about it,' he protests after another abrupt kiss.

She throws her hands up in the air, angry and frustrated. 'You clearly fucking haven't? What the hell do you want with that piece of scum anyway-?'

'You know he's not completely scum Hermione.' Her boyfriend warns her in a low, careful voice. Suddenly, they're talking but it's a conversation completely between them - like they can read each other's minds.

Hermione exhales shakily and then she nods first to herself and then to the other two men in the room with her. She turns her attentions to Harry and he's a little shy. 'What d'you want with Draco?' she asks.

Harry runs a hand through his silky, untamable black hair as he stands up and makes his way to the window. He hesitates before he confides in them. 'Draco … Draco in my world was a man who possessed the ability to do good but was too afraid. From what I hear, he's still like that. I want to talk to him so I can gather what it will take for me to get home-'

'Get home?' Hermione cries, her interjection ringing loud and clear.. 'No,' she shouts, 'no you're not supposed to go home. You have to stay and help us! That's why you're here! You're our saviour, here to take us away from the oppression we face at the hands of the Darkest Lord.' She flinches when she says Lord and stares up as if she's cursing the heavens and God … _if he is there._

Remus takes her hand and looks at Harry. 'You don't want to stay?'

'I can't stay.'

'You're supposed to be here Mr Potter. Don't leave when your task hasn't even been completed.' His voice retains that perfect, kind and patient tone that he has always had.

'I'm not supposed to be here!' the bespectacled man protests. 'I was in McGonagall's office for a meeting with her and Hermione. That's how I ended up here. God, they're probably looking for me. They're all scared I bet, and 'Mione...'

''Mione is in another world right now. You've got one Hermione here though, in desperate need of your help and support. If you promise to stay until we successfully overthrow the Darkest Lord then you're on your own.'

'On my own?' he echoes.

'Yes. On your own. You get home but we're not helping you. If anything it'll serve as a distraction and maybe we'll finally be able to kill the Lord.'

'But-' Harry stutters, however, Remus cuts him off this time.

'We're not asking for much. We're not asking you to kill the Dark Lord with us or plan the revolution and help us free all of the slaves. We just want a little guidance, someone there to tell us how to do things.'

'I don't know though! The younger man cries. 'I don't know how to help you and I don't wanna let you down. Look,' he hurriedly says, 'you've got the wrong man to help you do this job.'

That's when Hermione strikes him. It's a shock because never in her life has she struck Harry but then again, this isn't his Hermione. This is just a girl with the same name who has been through terrible things just like his Hermione. His head whips to the side and his cheek is flaming like the rest of his face.

'Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry sir, I didn't mean to-! I never-!'

'It's fine.' He replies in a low voice, hand coming up to tentatively stroke his face. 'I want to see Draco now. I want to learn if there is a way for me to get home but … but-' he thinks about his world and how they would have thrived at the idea of someone coming to save them, someone who had a history of doing great things before. He realised in that moment just how crucial he was to the resistance; Ollivander, Remus, Hermione and so many more people expected him to save them.

He couldn't let them down, could he?

'If there's a way for me to get me home, then I'll stay for two weeks. Two weeks and I'll help you. But after that, I'm going home. I have a family … a life … people who must be shitting themselves because they're so worried about me-'

Remus flashes him a radiant, bright grin. 'I'll make sure you get home myself. But if two weeks pass and you can't get home, then you'll spend every minute with us fighting and trying to find away around. Deal?'

Harry doesn't shake hands with the other man. Instead, he faces Hermione, with the worried face and shaking red hand and scared expression. He takes her hand, shakes it and then releases. 'Deal.'

_xo_

Draco stands up when he's finishes and stares at the sobbing girls, one has ashy rose-tinted skin and the other has a deep, chocolate complexion. They lie on the bed in certain states of undress. The white girl's legs are still half-open and it's like she can't find the energy or dignity to shut them. The black girl is whimpering, scared for her useless, pathetic Muggle life.

'Stop with your moping,' Draco hisses to the first girl, 'and close your filthy legs. I've seen enough of what's between for a lifetime.' She starts sobbing louder and he can't stop himself. He leaps forward and slaps her sound across the face. She howls and he has to grab her soft hair to get her to shut up. 'Shut it,' he hisses at her before throwing her face forward. 'Don't make me ask you again.'

'Yes sir,' the pretty dark-skinned girl breathes, tears trailing soundlessly down her face. He likes her. She knows when to shut up and accept the situation. He doesn't need to scare her into complying.

'Put your clothes back on and go down to the cellar to do whatever my mother asks of you. If I hear any complaints from her, you're gone and your replacements will be here in a minute.'

The girls nod, the pink-cheeked one with a little less vigour and energy. He almost pities her and deep down maybe he does. 'Okay.'

'Okay.' They say back.

Draco pulls his trousers back on and then his shoes before he leaves the room. Now, if he's not mistaken, he's got an appointment at the famous Arts Store, Borgin &. Burkes to look at some collectable items. He's interesting in objects with messages. After that, he has to meet him father to attend an important meeting in which he'll be, for the third time in his life, in the presence of the Darkest, Greatest Lord.

Draco shivers.

He can't wait!

_xo _

The art he collects is purely for its historical context and whether his mother would approve. His mother is a huge fan of art and bless Narcissa, would die to get the best materials and objects she could. This includes what some would perceive as "Dark" objects. But really, _what is Dark?_ Is it dark to have a slave? Dark to rape them, to oppress the country, to oppress a particular race of humans in particular?

What is Dark in this world anymore? According to the Dark Lord, it would be wrong of him to help Mudbloods and Muggles, similarly to what he did for that pretty Mudblood Hermione Granger? The girl who he first lost his virginity to.

That would be wrong.

But it felt right to help her...

Draco isn't in love with her anymore, but he remembers what it felt like to be around a girl his age so often. He'd see her in varying stages of undress around the house, thanks to his father and his promiscuous ways. But he never understood what exactly it was he felt until his father presented him with her and a bed and a vial of a potion that she was forced to drink before the consummation began. His father also explained exactly what it was he was feeling: the throbs in the lower regions of his body, the way his palms would grow sweaty and his cheeks would turn pink when she entered the room, the way he'd feel such pleasure at thinking of all the things he would like to do to her.

Draco Apparates and is instantly in front of the busy, popular shop of Borgin & Burkes. However, when he so much as enters the shop, suddenly sounds of Apparation and fleeing people fills his ears. It is not necessarily suspicious because he knows exactly why they are going; to avoid confrontation and most importantly, to give Draco Malfoy the whole floor of the shop and free reign over whatever he wants.

'Good afternoon sir,' shouts Burke, eyes wide and a little frenzied. His cream suit is the same colour as his unflattering skin, and his yellow eyes and teeth stand out.

Draco ignores him and parades around the shop like he owns it. The artefacts he stumbles across belong to a huge range of different shapes, colours, sizes, uses and reasons for existence. Sitting besides a plain, simple book of the top ten insecurities faced by witches and wizards lies a half-full vial of a potion to make you whoever you want to be.

Contradictions lie all around Draco but he's had to learn to live with it. He flattens his silky white-blond hair back and fixes his eye on an object that stares right back at him. With a stunning frame and beautiful engravings around it, Draco falls in love with the mirror before him (as well as the reflection if he is to be completely honest).

A mirror that would not be unrecognisable to say … Harry Potter if he stumbled across it now. Only he doesn't stumble across it now and to Draco, the mirror is as distant and unknown to him as a life without Muggle slavery and oppression.

'What is this?' he says in that posh, cultured voice of his; a sly and smooth drawl similar to his father's.

Burke's face lights up, almost as though he has never been so happy. He signals at the price next to it of five hundred galleons but Draco waves his hand as if it is nothing. 'What is it Burke?' his voice is less patient and the elder man rushes to answer.

'A mirror that shows you the truths you have always tried to escape. It has the power to do a lot and nothing at all. It has been known to suck boys in and spit them back out as brave warriors. One thing it guarantees is change in a person, but whether that is good change or bad depends on the sort of person you yourself are.'

The blond man does all he can to stop from drooling. He wants it, just before he goes to meet his father and the Darkest Lord of all time, he wants to get this mirror.

So he throws a sack at Burke and replies in that insufferable, arrogant voice of his, 'You know my address. I want it there no later than tomorrow.' With a swish of his pure silk cloak, Draco is striding out of the shop without a care or thought on his mind.

That's a lie of course. All he can ever think about is Hermione, his mother and the mess he has gotten himself into. He shakes his head, Disapparates and waits patiently in the dining room of the second floor of his house, eagerly (bitterly, rather) anticipating his father's return.

* * *

Sorry about what happened to this chapter. I hope you've enjoyed this revised version.

Review? xx


	5. Black

**Disclaimer; **I do not own Harry Potter.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Suddenly the whole affair, though within its own right to be ridiculously disorientating of course, has turned into something much more difficult and bigger. Remus is communicating to someone with a mirror that is not completely unlike the one Harry's father used during his adolescence … in the other world. He's not sure what the hell his parents do and have done in this world.

Were they friends? Young lovers? Or did events fall and form similarly to how they fell and formed in Harry's world: of his mother rebuffing his father for several years until their last in school together.

Ollivander was tweaking with the radio that sat in the corner of the large kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

A thought amongst the million floating about the infinitely large cavern of Harry's mind suddenly places itself at the forefront of his brain and glides down gracefully to his tongue: it's turned into a question now, one about Mr S-

'You're using Grimmauld Place as a sanctuary. But it belongs to the Black family. Is Sirius in charge now? Of the Black family that is? Is he even alive?'

There's silence, like the _calm before a storm_. Only Harry isn't completely sure, in this shaky progression of unfortunate events, what exactly _the calm_ is. Will it be the information they tell Harry and if this is the case, then will the storm be his reaction? Or might it be his question which was the calm and the response his question is going to garner will be the storm?

Harry quickly turns to where Remus Lupin is standing, with his arms around his girlfriend and his lips barely touching the shell of her small pale ear, however, whereas he was whispering furiously fast to her and swooping down lower even for a brief kiss, simply the touching of their lips, before pulling away and resuming his previous position … he's frozen now and his lips are a straight tight line.

'Sirius Black?' Remus asks quietly. He straightens his long body, releases Hermione from his hold on her and turns to face Harry who looks a little scared, if not worried most of all.

'Yes. He's alive, I assume.' Harry responds in a low voice.

The radio comes on now because Ollivander appears seemingly oblivious to the conversation they are having.

'Yes,' Remus's voice is deeper than Harry's, husky in his one-syllable response and worst of all, emotionless. Like he's involved somehow with this story and perhaps he is - in fact he probably fucking is, Harry thinks. They were the best of friends, brothers and comrades for practically their whole lives in Harry's world; most certainly in the case of his father and Sirius.

The emerald-eyed man freezes when he tunes in to what exactly this broadcaster on the radio is saying. '… courtesy of Head of Law Enforcement Sirius Orion Black.'

'Something like that.' Remus murmurs under his breath. Then he signals to the room they are in whilst the broadcaster continues talking about the great contributions made by Sirius Black to the province of Riddlesville and to Britain altogether too. 'He's Head of Law Enforcement. He's perhaps one of the most powerful men in this country.'

'He's also the Dark Lord's lieutenant and right-hand man. He and Snape hold the most influence over the Dark Lord, Ruler of Riddlesville, and he doesn't even know it.' Hermione laughs shortly and then looks up at her boyfriend and the smile slips off her face.

'But,' Remus says slowly, 'but most importantly I guess … he's my best friend.'

There's a rippling crack as someone Apparates directly into the room; upon further inspection, Harry notices that the device Remus was using earlier is now flashing, and Hermione herself has got a similar device in her hands with a flashing red light too. He hears someone clear their throat and thinks before looking up; it can't be Remus because the man is standing to his left, nor can it be Ollivander because the voice sounds too … too youthful and not at all like the man in question is about to die.

Harry lets his gaze flitter up and doesn't know whether to smile or scream when the elder man looks up at him and smiles before bowing his head and saying, 'Merlin, Harry Potter, in my kitchen … I'd get fired for this Moony.' The two men chuckle and smile at each other whilst Harry stares intently at the handsome smiling face of Sirius Black.

_His godfather._

_xo_

Draco Malfoy waits patiently, eagerly perhaps, or rather just some verb that makes it seem like he isn't bitterly awaiting his father's arrival. Happily? Cheerfully? Ecstatically-?

The dining room door on the second floor flies open and he sees his father strolling in.

'Father, how has your day been?' Draco says as he jumps up and bows low: a symbol of his mostly unwavering respect.

His father throws his cane on the table, followed by his cloak. He sighs tiredly and then barks at the air, 'Dobby!'

Whatever half a second is (five hundred milliseconds, is it?), Dobby came so quick Draco's sure he was there in the first place. 'Yes, my Lord,' the elf stutters. He cries out when he's kicked in the side by a smug, satisfied Lucius.

Suddenly, Draco wonders whether his father has ever done anything remotely sexual with the house elves. He probably has, the blond man concludes. His father, for as long as he can remember, has always been highly in touch with his sexuality and in some cases that can be a good thing. But in Lucius's, it's not at all because for Lucius, it means rape and bestiality.

'Bottle of whiskey.'

There is a pause whilst Dobby sobs for a second longer before Lucius screams at the top of his lungs, 'Now!' The house elf Disapparates without another noise and appears moments later with two glasses and a bottle. Dobby places it down and without further ado, disappears with a crack.

'Silly elf,' Lucius whispers under his breath as he pours himself and his son two large measures of whiskey. He tosses it back and pours himself another before sipping it a little slower. 'My day, Draco,' he says in answer to the question previously asked of him, 'has been tiresome and fucking boring to put it plainly. Black didn't show up until half way through, though I assume it's because his whore wife has been having morning sickness or whatever it was he muttered lamely to me. That meant that those in cells awaiting their Dementor punishments had to wait an extra two hours for the useless fucking cunt to appear.'

Draco winces at his father's use of profanities. _Always the charmer,_ he thinks.

'It also meant that the trials were pushed back and a whole load of other crap arose but at least I got to leave for a bit. I'm not expected back until eight o'clock and that's for a press conference.'

His father speaks freely to him which demonstrates to Draco at least, that he is valued. If not for his thoughts and personalities, than at least for his presence.

'Sirius Black's still an arse then?' asks Draco.

'I think the only person I dislike more than him is Snape. At least Black's a pureblood. I mean for god's sake, his first cousin is my wife. I have to get on with the man. Snape however is just as infuriating and perhaps even a little more powerful, as Prime Minister.'

Draco sips his whiskey. 'Hmm, true, but Black has more influence; he's a Pureblood and he's rich and his family's name is engraved in all the monumental milestones this country has undergone.'

His father nods almost submissively. 'You're right. I think what's most entertaining about the Ministry is watching Snape and Black battle it out over which laws to enforce and not to enforce.'

Draco laughs humourlessly and knocks the rest of his drink back before letting his father refill his glass.

'Well, Father, your day sounds less entertaining than mine. Thank you for the gifts you gave me.' He's anything but grateful yet he pretends to be grateful because it's much easier.

Lucius smiles and looks at his son deep in the eye. 'You're welcome son. I'm glad you enjoyed them. I found that once I'd disciplined the black one, the white one complied soon after.'

'I found it to be the opposite for me...' they spoke for a minute or two, a little awkwardly if Draco were to search his soul for the word that describes why and how his skin turned pink during the progression of this conversation, when he changed the subject altogether. 'Father, I was at Borgin & Burkes earlier and I stumbled across the most beautiful mirror.'

'You've got enough mirrors in your room, son,' the elder man laughs as he flicks his white-blond, silky hair back. 'What is it?'

Draco pauses and desperately tries to find a word that will describe the mirror perfectly. 'It's … special. Yeah. It's a special mirror.'

'What can it do?'

A light flashes before his eyes, metaphorically of course. This "light" is the dawning realisation that maybe … maybe he should keep the mirror's powers a secret. Just a small secret, but from his father nonetheless. He's not sure if he wants to indulge his father in information as substantial and significant as this.

His winged words leave his mouth smoothly after a brief second of hesitation; 'Nothing really. It just looks pretty.'

His father laughs. 'You like pretty things don't you?'

Draco nods, slowly at first but gaining and getting faster. He does like pretty things. A heart-shaped face flashes through his head and he nods harder.

Yeah ... he loves pretty things.

_xo_

Sirius Black looks like everything Harry Potter could have ever imagined if Sirius was Harry's guardian and did not go to Azkaban. There's a confident smile on his well-structured face, he is healthier and handsomer than ever before … but there's something missing.

_The infamous twinkle in his eye, perhaps..._

'Remus,' Sirius Black says in a low voice. They cross the kitchen to embrace shortly before releasing each other. 'I'm sorry about the law that was passed last week. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I've been blocking and blocking it for four months but Malfoy and that snake Snape finally got it passed. Are the moons...'

'As hard as ever? Yes Padfoot.'

'Especially with me not around anymore.'

Remus shakes his head. 'It's fine. Marlene needs you, she's preggers and all. I understand-'

'It's not that, Remus! You know that I can't sneak out as easily anymore. There are more meetings and press conferences now, what with the threat to the Darkest Lord increasing.'

They appear to be so consumed in their own conversation that Remus barely notices when Hermione detaches herself from his side and walks towards Harry. Ollivander has left the room and there's no sign of him.

'What have you brought us, Black?' asks Hermione.

'Nice to see you too Granger.' He says softly and their eyes meet with a certain softness that no one else will really ever be able to understand. 'I got a bonus a few days ago but I don't need anymore money. I'm rich enough as it is.'

He pulls out a sack from within the layers of his robes and throws it on the kitchen table. It makes a loud thud and Harry is sure it's dented the thick wooden table too. The bag is big and appears to have a few thousand coins inside-

'Eight thousand galleons. I'd've bought more but next month I'll give you extra.'

'Eight thousand? That's so much.'

Hermione shakes her head. 'Not for an operation as big as this one.' She picks up the bag. 'Thanks anyway Black.'

He leans forward and grabs her hand. 'I promise, there will be double next month. It's just … they monitor what me and Marl spend our money on sometimes, and there's only so many times I can get away with claiming that I've bought her thousands of galleons worth of jewels and gold.'

'It's fine, friend,' Remus's voice is deep and rumbling. He clasps Sirius's shoulder and a look of comradeship is shared between them. 'You've done better than any of us could ever hope to do.'

Sirius shakes his head however. 'No, I've let you down. I'm sorry for that. I'll go to Gringotts first thing tomorrow and extract a further five thousand galleons. If they ever do ask, I'll say that I bought a rare diamond or something for Marl.'

He shakes hands with Remus again before releasing him. Finally, for the first that evening, Sirius Black's attention is completely on Harry. He releases his friend and pulls off the outer layer of his robe, revealing a smart black suit beneath. Then he takes off his blazer, unbuttons the first few black buttons on the pristine white shirt and pulls off his tie. He sits at his table and looks around.

'Harry Potter in my kitchen, blimey,' he says as he runs a hand over his face. Then he shakes his head. 'Where are my manners? It's nice to finally meet you Mr Potter.' He stands up and shakes Harry's hand firmly before gesturing for him to sit down. 'Please, take a seat. What drink would you like? Gin? Brandy? I have some 1864 Whiskey from the South of France if that interests you...'

'Gin is fine thanks.'

As Sirius bustles around the kitchen looking for four glasses and a suitable bottle of gin, Remus sits down and Hermione places herself on his lap.

'How's Marlene?' she asks.

Marlene Black, five years younger than Sirius Black and yet in many years, older and wiser than him.

'She's alright. Was hit by a nasty bout of morning sickness earlier, but she's at her mum's for the night to let me take care of you guys.'

'On what pretence?' asks Hermione.

'That her mother is sick and she needed some time away from me.' He says as he places the glasses in front of them and fills each one with a generous amount of gin. He hesitates in front of Hermione's glass but after a quick glare from her, he fills her glass.

'How far along is she now?'

'She's seven weeks in. Has had morning sickness for the last week.'

Hermione nods. 'Send her my love.'

'Discreet love of course,' Sirius laughs.

'Yes, discreet.'

Harry coughs when the burning gin trickles down his throat. He coughs again into his hand and is a little relieved when Hermione follows suit, though it's only one cough for her and barely even there. Sirius's eyes are brought back to him.

'So, Harry … how are you?'

The emerald-eyed man shrugs. 'I'm alright. Just a little tired. And a little confused.'

'About what?' Remus asks as he leans forward to snatch the bottle from his friend and refill his glass and then Hermione's.

'I'm not sure what exactly it is you guys want me to do? What is this whole operation? Are there more of you? What do you need the money for? Why is the Head of Law Enforcement on the same team as a werewolf and a Muggleborn in a world like this?'

Sirius looks at Harry for a while; like he's assessing him and sizing him up, perhaps wondering how best to answer or maybe just because he's curious. Harry is use to people being curious: people staring at him, following him, asking a million and one questions about him. However, that being said, the chilling and calculative stare Sirius Black is fixing on him, combined with stunning silver eyes and intelligence glistening behind the large orbs has Harry's palms sweating and his heart beating faster.

'Isn't it obvious Mr Potter?' he asks. 'Because our country is being run by a tyrant and we want to stop it.'

'And the fact that your first love was killed for being a Mudblood.'

Sirius's eyes grow glassy and he fixes Hermione with a cold and bitter stare. 'Yeah … and that...'

There's a silence for a few minutes, and they can hear Ollivander bustling about the house doing this and that. Then Remus breaks the silence, well, he whispers something into Hermione's hear and she sighs frustratedly.

'Sorry Black. I shouldn't have mentioned that.'

'Yeah,' he replies coldly, 'you really fucking shouldn't have.' He stands up and heads towards the cupboards adjacent to him, where Harry assumes he keeps his booze. Sure enough, Sirius pulls out a bottle of vodka and starts filling up his glass with it.

'You're going to help us, right Harry?'

The younger man runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. 'You guys keep mentioning how I'm going to help you and that's fine. But I don't understand how I'm supposed to help you? You haven't told me anything, you haven't even shown me anything.' He says.

A strange and peculiar expression flickers across Sirius's face, illuminated by the dancing flames of the fire in its place. He tilts his head and laughs once. 'You're joking right?'

'What? No. I'm not.'

'They haven't told you-'

'We didn't think it was time for him to know,' Hermione interjects.

Sirius slams his fist against the table once and she goes silent. 'Of course it's fucking time for him to know. He's as much apart of this as we are.'

'Yes, but we don't even know if we can fully trust him yet-'

'I think we can trust him. More than you can trust me for certain.' Sirius Black laughs shortly and turns back to face the younger man. 'Harry,' his voice is soft and ever so patient. 'you are the man that was sent to us to kill Voldemort-'

Hermione's squeak interrupts them and the elder man shakes his head once more before correcting himself and saying, 'to kill the Dark Lord. You were sent to us by Merlin and the gods. The prophecy said that you're the only person the Dark Lord will ever fear and … and that's true. You're the one person on this Earth that he would die to see go. Your presence would be enough to scare him. And there's a thing or two I've learnt from working with Tom Riddle over the past few years...'

Remus looks up from where his hands are holding Hermione's. He raises an eyebrow and says, 'What?'

'When the Dark Lord is scared, he's at his weakest. If he's scared, we'll stand a chance.'

* * *

Next chapter: Harry meets the resistance group and Draco discovers a few interesting things...

Thanks for all the faves and follows. You're fab! Please leave a review for this chapter. I want to know what you think.


	6. Alliances

**Disclaimer; **I do not own Harry Potter. This all belongs to J.K.

Thank you all so much for the follows and faves, but I would appreciate if I had more reviews. I'd like to know if you think I'm taking the story down the right route, if you don't understand anything etc.

Also, reviews are nice and they make me happy. But the fact that 90% of my followers haven't even left one review, well it would be nice if you could tell me what you think. More reviews = quicker updates.

That being said, enjoy this chap. Thanks!

* * *

'When the Dark Lord is scared, he's at his weakest. If he's scared, we'll stand a chance.'

Sirius Black's voice is ominous but hopeful at the same time; or rather, perhaps "resigned" would be a better word. Like he's finally accepted that such a thing can happen: the "such a thing" of course, in this circumstance, being Voldemort's assassination.

'I don't understand-'

A cry of agony comes from the man, not necessarily loud and as natural to him as breathing or sneezing is - his Dark Mark is flashing. Harry is surprised to see that it looks the same as the Dark Mark in his world; evidently, Voldemort's creativity is endlessly consistent regardless of setting and expanse of time … of world, even. He is the same in each world, Harry presumes. He serves to be emblematic of one thing only: _darkness._

The man looks down at his arm and runs a hand over his face. Suddenly, he's standing straighter, his jaw is jutting and it's like his personality has completely changed. He's living a double life: funny how Harry's Sirius mocked Snape for living two lives and he's doing the exact same thing in this universe.

But no, it's not up to Harry to judge. He owes both men his life.

'I'll meet you tomorrow, Rem. At the spot where we always have our meetings...'

'I'm not sure if we can-'

'-be there at twelve, latest. And remember, Harry has to be there - he deserves to know...' Then he Disapparates with a crack as hurriedly as he can, only to Apparate into a scene where a smile on his face is as foreign as a Muggle marrying a pureblood fascist.

Harry starts panting and he has no idea why. He pauses and looks at the agonised faces of Hermione and Remus. She talks first:

'I'm guessing you would like to meet the others, sir?'

'Don't call me sir, please, I'm younger than you both. No Mr Potter nonsense too. Just Harry, or Potter even.'

She nods. 'Okay Potter, how d'you want to go about this?'

He yawns all of a sudden as a wave of tiredness washes over him. 'I would like to go to sleep. I'm exhausted. But tomorrow as soon as I wake up, I want to meet everyone.'

'By everyone do you really mean-'

'I mean everyone worth knowing that I can actually meet. If I'm going to stay here and help you guys because right now there doesn't seem to be a way for me to get home, well I might as well make friends with those I should acquaint myself with. Useful people, smart people and most importantly, the powerful ones...'

Hermione sighs and moves back into the comfort of her boyfriend's arms. 'Send the Ravens and the Patronuses.'

From the doorway, someway above them comes an aged and tired voice; 'Already on it, I'm sending the Ravens we have to the groups scattered around London.'

'What? Fab and Gid's group, Molly's group and Kingsley's group?' she shouts back.

'Oh, not Molly's group. They're on a mission now. I've sent a Raven to Snape. He may as well know of Harry being here. No use will come from him not knowing.'

'No, but we'll be able to avoid his bitch fit for a while longer.' Remus interrupts, his eyes narrowed and fists on either side of Hermione's body, clenched and tight. 'I hate that man.'

'I don't think there's a person alive who doesn't hate him.' Hermione says softly, reaching up to stroke her beloved boyfriend's cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into her hand, and Harry feels very guilty for watching their interaction.

There is a pause, the sort that is momentous. Leaving you gasping and eagerly awaiting the next word, next action, next something! Remus utters this momentous thing. He opens his mouth and hesitantly whispers that- 'There was one person. And she's gone now-'

'Shhh...' Hermione says, wiping a stray tear clinging to his lower lashes and reaching over to kiss him.

Harry sits in his makeshift, half-conjured bed in the empty bedroom and all the while, wonders what happened to his mum. He wonders why she is "gone now".

If it's his mum that Remus is even talking about...

_xo_

The morning is a fruitful affair. For once, Harry actually feels as though he's woken up, and isn't in some limbo where he lives forever but is not really living at all. He's in a place where death can greet him with fallible excuses about how it is his time to pass and he has no free will because death does not will it and because he dares to be alive in the first place.

Remus is speaking to a silent someone; Harry assumes it is maybe through the weird technology that they have in this world, or maybe just a good old-fashioned telephone.

'-sounds good to me … yeah, about twenty minutes, just got to wake Potter up and pack everything. Any word from Snape...?'

There's evidently a response because Remus murmurs low in his voice, 'Ignore him. He'll be put in his place later on, I can promise you that.'

There's more murmuring that Harry can't make out anymore because it's so ridiculously quiet, so instead he focuses his solicitous attentions on trying to keep his hair flat and stop his clothes from being so wrinkly but he's never been very good at those spells. There's a knock on his door and he calls out; 'Yes?'

'Hey Potter,' Hermione says as she steps inside with a tray. There is a glass of milk, cereal in a bowl and a spoon next to it. Not the most filling breakfast, he notes, but at least it's something.

'Thank you.'

'We're leaving in ten minutes, so finish eating quickly and then we'll make our way.' She's about to leave when he stops her.

'Hermione…'

'Yeah?'

'What should I do?'

'What do you mean Potter?'

Harry bites his lip. 'Shall I talk to them, maybe tell them a bit about myself? D'you think they would even care?'

She pauses and then closes the door behind herself and for the first time that day, looks up to stare Harry in the eye. It takes her a few minutes to answer and all the while, Harry can't drag his eyes away from the sight of her scar.

'I'm not sure what you should do Harry. But don't tell anyone why you're here and how you got here, not unless Remus and Sirius tell you to.'

'I'm guessing that they're pretty important, right?'

Hermione shakes her head. 'They're not "pretty important", Potter. Sirius and Remus are the heads of the group. They were the ones who started all of this, well them and James Potter and … Pettigrew. But that's a story for another day-'

'Wait, my father? My father helped start it?' Harry asks urgently. 'You have to tell me more-'

'I'd prefer to tell you the whole story instead of just a bit of it. Your father deserves more respect than that. I promise I will tell you, but I can't right now. We don't have time.'

He pours his milk into the bowl and stirs it with the spoon whilst pondering over her words. Then something dawns on Harry. 'Wait, if Sirius and Remus are running the resistance, then what about Dumbledore?'

'Wait what?'

'Dumbledore. What's he doing about all of this?'

'Who's Dumbledore?'

_xo_

Draco sits with his father at the large table in their main dining room. His mother and father are arguing quietly under their breaths about whether Draco should be allowed to sit in the meeting. His father wants him to know what to expect when he begins to handle the harder tasks of the Dark Lord whereas his mother argues that he's too young.

He's not too young. He's just too innocent.

Draco looks up when his mother enters the room, a bitter smile on her face. 'You're allowed to stay in and listen to the meeting if you want, but only if you want. Should you feel uncomfortable at any time, beg the Dark Lord your pardon and leave immediately.' Narcissa leans forward to stroke her son's cheek and whisper ever so quietly to him, 'You don't have to do this son.'

'I know Mother. But I want to.' His mother shakes her head and leaves the room without another word.

'Refreshments, darling, tell the elf … actually, tell the slaves to bring us refreshments. A new bottle of wine say, every half hour. Dress them too. They must look impeccable for when the Dark Lord leaves-'

There's a knock on the door and stuttering from the house elf Dobby when he sticks his head around for Lucius to see. 'My Lord, Lord Black, Lord Snape and the Darkest Lord are here.'

Dobby's thrown to the side by Snape, who stands tall and strong and powerful as ever. Lucius and his son stand up slowly and nod their heads at Snape. Next comes Sirius Black, handsome and smug as ever. He raises an eyebrow at Lucius, smirks at his son and then sits down in a chair at the table, opposite Snape. They look at each other coldly before glancing back up at their Lord.

'My Lord,' Lucius breathes, bowing his head low. His son copies his actions and murmurs in a voice not unlike Lucius's, yet with a shred more warmth, 'My Lord'.

The Dark Lord lowers his hood and stares at the two blond men. His eyes are large and darker than onyx, his shiny black hair glistens in the candlelight and his skin is so pale it's almost reflective. He is a handsome man but because he is so cold, his beauty is suddenly very unimportant.

'Lucius, it is nice to see you.' The older man says, voice like ice. 'And you have brought Draco with you. It is a pleasure to formally meet you, Mr Draco Malfoy.'

The young man's cheek tinge pink and without raising his eyes, he nods rapidly. 'Yes m-my Lord. Th-thank you my Lord.'

'You're allowed to look at him Draco,' Black laughs, 'nothing will happen.'

When the young man does look up to meet those chilling dark eyes, he sees a smile on the Dark Lord's face. Evidently, he finds Black amusing, which perhaps explains why the fool is still alive.

The Dark Lord extends his hand for a handshake and Draco's own hand trembles on the journey to meeting the powerful wizard's. He almost winces upon touching the pale skin - it's just as he thought it would be, freezing to touch and strangely reptile-like. It's too smooth, the fingers too long and too skinny...

'So, my Lord, what is this meeting about exactly?' Black asks whilst Lord Voldemort circles the table and sits in the Lucius's usual chair; the one at the front and at the head of the table.

'Do you have somewhere to be, Sirius?'

Draco shivers. The way he says 'Sirius', like a snake hissing, sibilance running through the one word and in the case of the Dark Lord's pronunciation, the sibilance is a little over-done. The 's' stretches for too long. Perhaps it is part of his charm. Draco just thinks it's a way of the Dark Lord making them all the more scared.

'Not really, my Lord. But I did plan on spending the day with my pregnant wife who just returned home earlier this morning. I bought her a gift and wanted to show her it upon her return, but this is more important so-'

'That would explain why you've spend a lot of money this week then?' It's a test of course. The Dark Lord always tests his followers, even if they are his best and most trusted followers.

'Yes my Lord.' He barely even hesitates, Draco notices. Despite Sirius Black being his second cousin, he's always felt more like an uncle.

'Well, you can leave as soon as we finish discussing what I have called you to discuss.'

Snape yawns tiredly and then nods. 'Yes, my Lord, but I have a quick question - why is Black here? You know that anything he can do, I can do also. Let the fool go, I can't bare to spend more time with him then I have to.'

Tom Riddle chuckles, followed by rounds of laughter from the group of men. 'He is my trusted advisor Snape. He thinks in ways that you and I do not, what with his pure heritage and rich lineage. There are ways in which he thinks and sees that you and I cannot quite achieve.'

There's a knock on the door and in comes one of the slaves; a beautiful blonde girl with sun-kissed peach skin and full pink lips. She carries a tray with five glasses and a bottle of wine.

'Master,' she breathes as she sets the tray before Lucius. He waves his wand and her skirt flies up, exposing fleshy thighs and a perfect pert bum. Tears roll down her cheeks as she stands there, eyes almost shut with shame whilst Lucius admires her body. He flicks his wand and her top flies up too, revealing her stomach and breasts.

'Come here,' Lucius says and the girl whimpers as she slowly walks towards him. When she stops less than a foot from him and clenches her eyes shut, Lucius reaches out to slap her bum cheek as hard as he can, leaving a clearly visible red hand-shaped mark in his place. 'That will be all.'

The girl nods quickly and leaves the room, forgetting the tray behind and forgetting to pour her _betters_ their glasses. Black however grabs the bottle of wine and pours them each a glass.

'You have your Muggles trained well,' the Dark Lord comments.

'I'm glad you noticed, my Lord. I pride myself on disciplining them well and teaching them how to act in the presence of people better than them.

'Well, you have done a good job Lucius. How many do you have now?'

'Only two. I killed one last week because he was rude and insufferable. The week before the last, I dumped two in a forest with no food and drink and no idea where they were. They are probably dead now.'

Black shrugs. 'Who knows, maybe they became cannibals and one of them is still alive? It's behaviour that Muggle-scum have been known to resort to.' He knocks back the remainder of his glass and slowly pours himself another one.

That is when Snape interrupts. 'It is behaviour that every civilisation is known to resort to-'

'Except us.' Black retorts.

The long-nosed wizard smirks and replies with; 'Yes, except us.'

_xo_

'You don't know who Dumbledore is?'

_No, no, no, no, no-_

Hermione's face drops. 'Is he worth knowing?'

Harry swallows. 'He's the person most worth knowing.'

'Rem! Remus!' Hermione cries. She waves her wand and Harry's now-finished food disappears with a 'POOF!'

Her boyfriend enters the room and looks between Hermione and Harry. 'What's wrong?'

'Do you know of a Dumbledore?' she asks as she stands and glues herself to his side.

He thinks hard for a moment and then shakes his head. 'No, I don't. Why? Is he important?'

Harry nods very hard. 'The most important man in the world, or at least in my world. Without Dumbledore we would not have defeated V- the Dark Lord. Without Dumbledore, I wouldn't even be alive. He was the only wizard that the Dark Lord feared. And you're telling me that he doesn't exist?'

Remus slowly nods and then he says, 'I can try and find out more about him, maybe at the meeting. But we should leave now.'

'Any word from Black?'

Remus shakes his head of blondish-brown hair slowly. 'Not yet, but he'll be there. Maybe he's just been held up.'

'Yeah … held up...'

'Go on, take his hand, we should get going babe. I'll follow after you.'

Hermione nods and then laughs when her boyfriend kisses her nose. 'See you in a sec, then.' She replies before taking Harry's hand. 'Hold on tight. We're going underground and somewhere pretty far.'

'Alrigh-' The air is sucked from his lungs as he's squeezed through a million tubes; really thin, small tubes that make his heart clench and his stomach convulse before he's thrown back into the world of air and reality and hearts-that-don't-clench.

The first thing Harry notices is that … he recognises every single person there. However, that doesn't necessarily mean that everyone they are alive in his world or good in his world or even yet born in his world.

He notices Fabian and Gideon first and with them is Bill and Charlie as well as Fred. Tonks stands on the left of Fabian (or Gideon), holding his hand and laughing at some joke. Harry also notices Moody, a woman that he knows was friends with his parents during their time at Hogwarts and recognises from the pictures Hagrid gave him in his first year, and of course Frank and Alice Longbottom.

There are more people that Harry notices and recognises but he doesn't have the chance to mentally name them because someone has screamed his name, creating absolute silence in the room.

'Potter?' it's Gideon (or Fabian).

Then both twins look at each other with identical smiles and shout: 'It's Potter!'

* * *

Any questions you have will be answered. I hope you liked this chapter.

**Please review!**


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